


I can't stand to fly (I'm not that naive)

by hotrodngold (Krystalicekitsu)



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Case Fic, Child Abuse, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Trauma, Rape/Non-con References, Tragedy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-08
Updated: 2012-01-08
Packaged: 2017-10-29 04:38:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/315912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/hotrodngold
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The blackberry on its clip holster makes a much more satisfying sound, shattering against the wall not two feet from Chin's head.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I can't stand to fly (I'm not that naive)

**Author's Note:**

> To fill the 'child abuse (sexual)' square of my hc_bingo card. Which means that there is child rape alluded to within, though the fic deals with what the team, Danny in particular, goes through after dealing with the case rather than the incident/case itself and the child isn't introduced in the fic at all.

Danny slams the door to the showers open, fingers tearing at the knot in his tie. Jesus Christ. Jesus _Christ_ , some people-

Hitting the wall with that much force really hurts. Then again, doing that same action to their perp would've hurt more. In the long run, anyway, but it'd feel mighty good in the short run and DeMarco-

No. No, not going there, not thinking about it.

"Fuck!" And the stupid tie won't come off, won't unknot, and his fingers are clumsy, bloodied, covered with-

" _Fuck_ ," he swears, fury rather than frustration this time. His knuckles ache more the second time they hit the wall, but nothing pops. The strike doesn't do anything for the sick, sinking ball of rage eating its way through his chest, either, but he'll take the not-broken-hand over the little bit of relief he might've gotten because there's still paperwork.

"Danny?"

He swears again, low and quiet. Chin. Chin Ho Kelly, detective, partnered with him because McGarret can't be in two places at once, and of the two leads they'd gotten, both had looked too promising _not_ to split their resources.

"Danny." And Chin must be right behind him now, but Danny's not paying that sort of attention, just barely hanging on to his rage. That same rage he's had for a very long time. The rage he'd developed after years and years of being just that much too late, too late to stop a little girl from-

"Danny."

His tie goes flying, but it's not enough, and soon his wallet joins it against the wall, but both just flop against the tile, unsatisfying. The blackberry on its clip holster makes a much more satisfying sound, shattering against the wall not two feet from Chin's head.

" _What_!?"

"Danny-"

"What do you _want_ from me, huh?! WHAT NOW?"

Chin doesn't look like he's afraid, like he's cautious, or nervous or worried. He just looks patient and sad, maybe a bit hurt, but he's covered in blood, too, covered in- in-

"What the fuck is the _point_?! Huh?! Why the fuck do we exist, if not to stop that- that- _To stop **that**_?! What the fuck-all good is a badge-" he chucks the one from his belt at Chin, who ducks in time, "or a _gun_ -" and he distantly realizes he must not be thinking straight, because he hurls that at Chin too, who wisely catches it, rather than let it slam into the wall, "-against _that_? how the _fuck_ am I supposed to sleep, knowing that some sick fuck can _do_ \- can get _that close_ to some kid and nobody would be the wiser?!"

"Danny, calm-"

"DO NOT FUCKING TELL ME TO CALM DOWN, CHIN HO KELLY," Danny all but roars, and he barely registers the door opening, or the other half of their team coming silently in. His vision is tinged red, something burning at his eyes, something painful squeezing at his throat.

"Danny-"

"SHUT UP!" He's barely hanging on, barely keeping himself from launching himself at Chin and- he's honestly not sure what the end result would be but he's pretty sure he'd be getting suspended for it, if not outright fired.

"How can you just _STAND THERE_?! Does it fucking bother you _at all_!? Do you even fuckin _care-_ "

He's so sunk into the red lining his vision, he's not at all prepared for the arms that lock under one shoulder and around his throat or the body that shoves him boldly off to the right, or the hands that pin him against the tile when he's released from the stranglehold.

The cold douse of water shocks him back to his senses, though he'd rather be back in that angry place. The place where he didn't have to feel this helpless despair, and the burning in his eyes finally coalesces into tears and the tightness in his throat turns his breath to sobs.

The hands at his back gentle from restraining to supporting, but it doesn't matter, because his knees give out and he sinks down to the shower floor, fully clothed and sobbing in front of his team. There's a quiet voice- _Kono_ \- turning away concerned and curious officers- _'Bad case, guys. Give us a while. No, its fine. We'll be okay. Thanks, guys.'_ \- and two sets of arms around him. His face is pressed into a chest, a hand rubs at his back and he lets it all out, complies with the rumble under his ear soothing _'it's ok, Danno. We're here, it'll be ok. Let it out'_.

"I c-can't- Can't stop see-seeing-," he sobs before he loses the ability to speak, far past the point where he'd be uncomfortable, because this is his ohana, his team, _his_ his, and 'family' had never seemed an inadequate word until he'd found _his_.

Smaller, softer hands cup the cheek not pressed into a firm chest, gentling away tears, _'We're here, Danny'_. A forehead is pressed into his free shoulder, _'It'll be ok, brah.'_

Eventually, his sobs quiet and he hangs there, comforted and hollow and exhausted, in his ohana's arms. It's almost done, he knows, but not quite.

"I couldn't stop seeing it. In my head," he intones, voice raspy and half dead. One of them tells him he doesn't have to say anything, but he shakes his head slowly. He has to let them know why, although they probably already know. Suspect. It's important to tell them, for some reason.

"Only. O-only it wasn't Michelle. It was-," the arms about him tighten when he stumbles, and he passes over the name, because they get it and he doesn't think he can bring her name into this. Not into this.

"And I could- can- see her. Just lying there. Like- like a b-broken toy. B-broken and used a-," his breath hitches, and the hand at his back presses just a little more firmly, "-and discarded. And all I-I could think wa-was," he can't help the choke in his voice, can barely squeeze the words out, "'We're going to see the turtles this Saturday but her dress is-'," he chokes on the words, throat refusing to work properly and all that comes out after that is a high, wordless keen of pain.

The bodies around him get closer after that, soothing and holding. His shirt is unbuttoned slowly, but he's too tired to raise questions, and this is _his_ , and he trusts them implicitly. One leaves, and the two left get his shoes and socks off before the one returns. The one who left- Kono- comes back and works his belt undone and then his pants. The other two- Chin and Steve, he thinks- work his pants down and off.

He's wrung out and listless, and he barely remembers gentle hands washing him of blood and other things. He knows they dry him with towels and get him into a pair of sweats too large for him and a shirt that fits just right because he'll remember the towels as he'll later recognize Steve's sweats and Chin's HPD shirt.

He'll know that they helped him to the crash room, named for the fact that cops too tired to drive home after all-nighters or doubles do exactly that on the cushioned and pillow-strewn floor, or on one of the three bunks bolted to the walls, because he'll wake there, surrounded by his ohana. He'll wake with his face buried into Kono's neck, one of her hands threaded through his hair. He'll wake with Steve curled around them, an arm around his chest. He'll wake to Chin sitting on a bunk, bolted to the wall, right in front of them, a drawing pad and pencil on his lap.

He'll glance up, warm, and at peace and muzzy, and Chin will glance up, and the corners of his mouth will lift slightly and Danny will be reassured and relieved, because Chin doesn't hate him, and his _his_ is here and his Grace is safe at home and he's got a state of the art computer upstairs, and really, who cares what Rachel will say- he's running every one of Grace's teachers through that thing.

She already kinda hates him, as the Ex, and if he's wrong, he's wrong. He probably will be, statistically speaking, but he'll do it anyway. He'll do it and put up with Steve's 'stalker' comments and Chin's knowing smirk and Kono's needling about offering him sniper training, because he knows they care, knows they care a damn lot, and if he's right…

Well.

If he's right, his ohana is pretty damn scary and Grace is theirs, too.


End file.
